


Run Boy Run

by voguethranduil



Category: The Accountant (2016), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Action, Angst, Drama, F/M, Jon Bernthal - Freeform, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, The Accountant - Freeform, mention of suicide, not too bad though, probably not because no one talks about the accountant anymore, there's only like one bit if you're triggered by that, will I ever finish this fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 11:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13569981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voguethranduil/pseuds/voguethranduil
Summary: The last thing Braxton Wolff thought he’d be doing today was killing all of his men, killing half of Moreno’s lackeys, and practically beating an old man into giving him his old pickup to make a messy escape. His nerves and reflexes are on high as he grips his blood stained gun with one hand, the other managing to stay in a single lane; much to his own shock that he’s actually capable of doing that at the moment.He’s in the outskirts of Illinois now, and the first, coherent and rational thing that goes through his mind is: I gotta ditch this piece of shit.Or, the one where an ex-hitman comes into your life and changes it forever - and you're trying to decide if it was for the better or the worse.





	Run Boy Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoenixjean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixjean/gifts).



> this has literally been in the works since september/november of 2017 and shoutout to good ol' college for making it hard to take the time to write.
> 
> does anyone even like the accountant anymore? fuck it. i do. 
> 
> come visit me at havokangel on tumblr!

The last thing Braxton Wolff thought he’d be doing today was killing all of his men, killing half of Moreno’s lackeys, and practically beating an old man into giving him his old pickup to make a messy escape. His nerves and reflexes are on high as he grips his bloodstained gun with one hand, the other managing to stay in a single lane; much to his own shock that he’s actually capable of doing that at the moment.

He’s in the outskirts of Illinois now, and the first, coherent and rational thing that goes through his mind is: _I gotta ditch this piece of shit._

The pickup he nicked from the old man is pretty much destroyed at this point. There are bullet holes in each side of it, and the back window is blown to pieces from Moreno’s men. Braxton is thanking any higher power at the moment that he’s covered by the night, and that he’ll be able to ditch the pickup and steal another car to keep on moving.

 _Moving._ God, the word reminds him of his childhood. The word has always left a bitter taste in his mouth. He can’t even count on two hands the number of times he’s had to move. But he’s safe to assume that he was never cut out for settling down and that he can thank his fuck-up of a dad for that.

Braxton pushes thoughts of his childhood out of his head and turns his thoughts back to what’s really important at the moment: Getting rid of the car and finding a place to shack up for the night to tend to his wounds.

* * *

The car was fairly easy enough to get rid of, the only hard part being to muster up enough energy to push the piece of shit into a river on the outskirts of Illinois. Braxton is a smart man, but as he watches the pickup flow down the river, the distant voice in his head is calling him _stupid, stupid, stupid._

He grits his teeth and ignores the voice, and kneels down to inventory his emergency backpack he’s always kept around for situations like this. He unzips it and pulls out everything he’s had stashed for years. It’s just the standard; a couple small tools, a map, medical gear, cash and stolen credit cards, and a few fake IDs.

He’s got enough cash to put an average man to shame, and he pats his past self on the back for planning ahead to set this amount to the side, the only irony is that Moreno was the one who had inspired him to do so.

Braxton unfolds the map and leans against a nearby tree, wincing as he moves his sore muscles. He roughly locates where he is, and drags his finger across the map to the nearest town. _Liggett, Indiana._

* * *

As it’s nearing four a.m., Braxton feels as if he’s walking on pins and needles as he approaches Liggett, _finally._ With his backpack slung over his shoulder and dirtied clothes, he walks until he reaches a Motel that looks like its last renovation was in 1972: the perfect place for him to lay low until he’s well enough to keep on moving.

Braxton washed most of the blood off of his face back down at the river, in hopes of not being questioned or looked at funny by any of the locals. But the person at the front desk barely blinks when he flicks through his stack of cash and hands him enough for a couple nights, sliding the key over to him without question. Braxton throws an extra $50 in there for the discretion.

When he’s standing in front of the fogged up, partially moldy mirror, Braxton slowly takes off his shirt, the pain finally catching up with him as he lets out a sharp hiss from between his teeth. The bruises on his ribs he got from fighting are a nasty, vile shade of green and he wouldn’t be surprised if he had dislocated or even _broken_ something. He turns around and looks over at his shoulder to see where a knife had caught him, stretching from his side up into the middle of his shoulder blades. Luckily Moreno’s men are fucking amateurs and it wasn’t very deep, but still, it hurts like a _bitch._ The last one that’s most noticeable is the one below his ear, and again, he’s lucky it’s not deeper.

After Braxton cleans up his wounds, he steps into the shower and lets the scalding hot water fall over him as he scrubs off the dirt and grime and blood. Flashes of the previous day flicker through his mind as he scrubs his arm with the scratchy washcloth and the shots still make his ears ring. His eyes squeeze shut as he leans his hand against the tile, head falling as he tries to get a grip on reality as the water falls over him.

“ _Solomon Grundy,”_ He grunts under his breath, swallowing hard. “ _Born on a Monday, christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday, took ill on Thursday, grew worse on Friday, died on Saturday, buried on Sunday, that was the end of Solomon Grundy.”_

* * *

For the next three days, Braxton spends his days doing something he usually doesn’t do. He gets shitfaced drunk and contemplates putting a bullet through his head. After all, that’s what should’ve happened back in Chicago. He should’ve been killed by all those men. He should’ve been six feet under right now.

At the end of his messy and hazy drunken three days, he packs his shit and steals a car at two a.m. He figures killing himself is the easy way out, and he won’t let Moreno have the satisfaction of knowing he drove Braxton to suicide. So as he’s driving through Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee and North Carolina, he decides that he’s going to do the one thing he’s never got to do in his life: settle.

* * *

After about two weeks of driving, shitty motels and cheap vodka, Brax peek out from over his sunglasses and quickly reads the faded sign on the side of the road.

_BALD HEAD ISLAND, SOUTH CAROLINA_

_POPULATION: 168_

_ENJOY YOUR STAY_

Small towns are perfect for being on the down low, and out of sight from anything dramatic. He imagines in his mind the city crossing out the 168 and changing it to 169, as he drives into the quaint town. With his sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose and flicking off his radio, Braxton assesses the town as he drives. The main drag is filled with a couple of local convenience marts and gas stations, and a bar or two. Even as Braxton drives through the heart of the town, he can see where the town practically ends.

The houses range from well kept to worn down and evicted, and as he drives more towards the outskirts, he’s sure if he keeps down the dirt road there’s gotta be an abandoned cabin or two that he could settle down in. And sure enough, he’s right.

It’s about five minutes after he passed through the town and through the little forest that he parks the pickup in front of an old, worn down cabin that looks like it could be even older than him. He hops out of the car and unzips his backpack to grab his handgun. A precaution.

He knocks lightly on the front door with the barrel of the gun and waits a second for a reply, and much to his luck, there’s none. Braxton opens the door and is met with the overwhelming smell of a dead animal, which he probably should’ve expected, seeing as this house looks like shit. He covers his nose with his sleeve and does a quick walkthrough of the house, observing and taking mental notes of stuff he needs to get.

It’s a small enough cabin to fit him and keep him out of sight, which is just what he’d been looking for. The bedroom luckily enough has an old mattress and boxspring, which makes his life a little easier. Setting his backpack on the ground beside him, Braxton pads into the bathroom, which admittedly is even disgusting to him. He winces a little as he turns on the shower, which takes a good five seconds to actually run properly. Even then the water is a slight brown before it runs clear, but regardless, he strips off and bites the bullet because he’s pretty sure there’s still some dried blood on his skin.

As he lays down on the shitty and stained mattress that night, he drifts to sleep to the noise of the crickets and rustling of the trees, rather than the noisy cars and loud neighbors that he’s been used to.

* * *

As the weeks of the scorching hot summer of June in South Carolina passes, Braxton keeps himself busy by fixing up his new home.

It didn’t take long for locals to catch on to this strange newcomer, between his visits to the hardware stores and shopping marts. He debated whether or not he should use an alias, but ended up on settling with his shortened name, Brax.

As June turns into July, he successfully manages to rewire the electricity, install AC, fix the drains, paint the cabin, and build a porch that goes around the cabin. He never knew how good it felt to get something done in this sense, and it makes him forget about where he was just over a month ago.

On his last trip to the hardware store, the employees had insisted that he make a trip down to the local and only bar, for a couple drinks. He always politely declined, but after all, _it has been_ a while since he last got to enjoy a beer. So that’s how he ends up there tonight, nursing a cold corona while bar-goers chat idly among themselves and play pool.

The easy-going vibe of the bar is suddenly disrupted, as Brax flinches at the sound of a pool stick snapping. He’s instantly on edge as he turns around to investigate, getting ready to fight if it’s Moreno and his men, but relaxes slightly as he finds it to be two locals that had one too many.

“You fuckin’ cheated!” Yelled the taller, older man as he throws the broken pool stick to the ground, fist colliding with the younger man’s cheek. “Give me my fuckin’ money!”

Brax watches this unfold as the other bar-goers just egg him on, watching as the younger man gets the life beaten out of him. He knows that this isn’t his problem and that he should just continue on with his Corona, but when the brick house of a bartender can’t even break up the fight, he huffs in annoyance and pushes up his shirtsleeves as he turns around to intervene.

It’s as easy as grabbing the older man’s shirt and tugging him back and dodging a few punches. Brax easily swings his leg in between the older man’s legs, sending him to the floor and ending it with a right hook to the jaw. He doesn’t think much of it as the bar goes silent for a second, everyone watching in shock and almost awe as Braxton flickers his gaze to the bartender and grunts,

“You gonna help me get these fuckers to the hospital or not?”

* * *

Nothing exciting ever happens in Bald Head Island Hospital. _Absolutely nothing._ Hell, you and Claire fight over who gets to give vaccine shots to the patients that come in on the slow days. So that’s why you get sent into a minor shock when Kev, the bartender drags in the town delinquent, Tommy, with Old Man Henry in tow by someone you haven’t seen much of in this town. Kev raises his brows as you and Claire both stand there looking shocked, and says,

“Tommy here decided to hustle Henry at the bar. Didn’t turn out so well.” He nods towards Henry being held by the stranger, who looks displeased with the two men. “I know you’re pretty slammed, but if you could just-” Kev starts to add sarcastically, as Claire interrupts him.

“Of course!” She says a little too excitedly, moving to take Tommy from Kev. “We’ll get these two patched up in no time. Wanna grab Henry?”

“Classic Claire, giving me the one with the least injuries.” You reply with a laugh, moving towards Henry and Brax. Brax watches quietly as you try to sling Henry’s arm over your shoulders, but wince at the weight of him.

“Want me to help?” He asks as you drop Henry’s arm off your shoulder, with an almost embarrassed laugh.

“Yeah, that’d be lovely, thank you. Just follow me.” You answer gratefully, grabbing your clipboard from the front desk. Brax follows silently as you lead him towards your patient room, and direct him to set Henry on the paper-lined table.

“Lord knows I couldn’t have done that myself,” you say with a bright smile, turning to offer your hand. “So thanks…..?”

“Brax,” he finishes, lips curling into a small smile, shaking your hand. “And s’no problem. Just went over there to get a drink, not listen to those guys duke it out over 10 bucks.”

You chuckle and give him your name and say, “Well you certainly gave Claire and I something to do, that’s for sure.” You tell Brax as he wipes his hands on his jeans. “Nothing exciting ever happens here.”

You pass easy conversation for a moment before Kev makes his way into the room, giving you his signature crooked smile and thanking you for “ _stitching up these assholes.”_  Brax gives you a smile as he takes his leave, and doesn’t miss the tinge of pink that spreads across your cheeks.

As Kev and Brax walk outside to the hot, Summer air, Kev leans against the brick wall of the hospital building and pulls out a cigarette, offering one to Brax as well. He gives Kev a nod of acknowledgment and takes the lighter from Kev, taking a drag.

“Y’know, we could use an extra hand around the bar,” Kev comments after a stretch of silence, tilting his head to look at Brax. “You certainly know how to get a grip on the local drunks. No one has ever taken out ol’ man Henry like that.”

Brax huffs out an amused laugh at that, throwing the cigarette butt on the concrete and stomping it out and saying,

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kev repeats with a grin. “We pay well. We’d pay extra for you to be a bartender and security.”

Brax glances over at Kev, who’s currently looking back at him with a raised brows and an expectant smile. He laughs softly, before asking,

“When do I start?”

* * *

Clocking off for the night, you and Claire pad into the locker room with clean clothes in tow, energy still runs through your veins as you peel off your scrubs.

“We should go get a drink!” You suggest happily, pulling on a v-neck as Claire chuckles.

“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Claire replies as she leans down to tie her shoes. “We’d also get to check out that newcomer. Don’t think I saw you practically undress him with your eyes as he left with Kev!”

“Oh shut up!” You say with a laugh, jumping up to pull on your shorts. “All I’m going to say about it is that he practically carried Henry in here with _one_ arm.”

Throwing her head back with a laugh, you fling a hair tie at her as she wipes her eye with her forefinger and says, “Hey, I’m not saying you should hit him up, but you should at _least_ get his number. He seems fun.”

Those are two things that don’t mix in this town: Fun and men. Nearly all the men in this town are either old, withered down seniors that have lived here since the 40s, or in their mid-40s who make constant trips to the city to cheat on their wives. You can’t count the number of times you heard the men brag to each other about how their wife and children think they’re going on a hunting trip. The only men you give a chance in Bald Head Island are the ones passing through; mainly the college boys who buy you the expensive drinks.

When the two of you arrive at the bar, the patrons are buzzing with energy about how Old Man Henry knocked out Tommy out cold, and how (as one _very_ hammered man stated) ‘ _the little shit had it comin’.’_

Your eyes immediately fall on Brax as you walk through the doors, who’s sitting quietly on a stool in front of Kev, nursing a beer. Claire elbows you knowingly, and you shoot her a playful death glare as Kev calls both of your names with a wide smile.

“Hey everyone!” He announces, heads turning to see what Kev could be yelling about. “These fine young ladies are the ones who stitched up those two assholes! Give em’ a warm welcome!”

As the drunken cheers begin, Claire laughs loudly as you turn red and chuckle along with her. Kev smiles as he grabs two glasses, filling them to the brim with what’s considerably the nicest the bar serves, and slides them to you, saying,

“On the house. Courtesy of a very, _very_ thankful local business owner.”

“No problem, Kev.” You laugh as you raise your glass in a mock toast, prompting Claire to giggle and clink her glass against yours. “It’s our pleasure. That’s enough action to last us a year.”

Next to you, a small huff of amusement passes through Brax’s throat. Claire nudges you with her elbow with a smile, gesturing to Brax. You raise a brow and bite back a smile, as you turn your head to look at him.

“M’not lying. That’s the most exciting a place like this gets.” You say with a chuckle, swallowing a mouthful of your drink.

“Don’t doubt that a bit.” His voice sounds like he’s considering whether or not continuing the conversation is a good idea, but he opts to pursue it a moment later. “How long have you been working there?”

Claire gives Kev a knowing look, and he smiles and challenges her to pool which coincidentally, is across the bar; leaving the two of you to talk.

“Almost three years. And in those three years, I think the only memorable night was last year when we had a hunting accident,” you explain, as he nurses his beer. “And even then, it was only a minor wound. Only took a couple stitches.”

“Sounds like a real crazy night.” He answers, lips crooking into a smile. You can feel the sarcasm in his voice, and you chuckle in response. Turning in your stool with your beer in hand, you bite back a smile.

“Let me guess,” you start off with a laugh. “You’re a city boy. You probably got loads upon loads of more exciting stories than me, because you probably were in a frat at some crazy nice university.”

The laugh he emits makes your initially tentative smile spread across your face, and he circles the beer in his hand.

“I’m a city boy, you got that part right. It’s a hard no on the last bit. Never went.”

“Coulda’ had me fooled.” You answer with a grin playing on your lips, swallowing a mouthful of beer.

“S’not like I don’t have a few exciting stories, though.” Brax answers, licking his lower lip with a smile. “Lemme tell you about this one time I met the prime minister of France.” The nonchalance in his voice makes you almost choke on your beer.

As the minutes turn to hours, you get completely absorbed into Brax’s world. He seems to have traveled the world, earning pages upon pages of stamps in his passport. With your chin resting on your palm as you lean in close to him as he tells you about his time in Bora Bora, you barely even notice nor react to his hand that rests on your knee.

“Jesus,” you say, as the bar starts to clear out. “You’re quite the world traveler, huh?”

“I don’t like to brag, but…” He says with a little smile, shoulders tugging upwards. You just chuckle and swallow the last of your beer as Brax stands to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, tossing some cash on the counter.

“Leaving so soon?” You ask with a raised brow. “And I thought we were just starting to hit it off.”

“We are, sweetheart,” He raises his hands in mock defense. “S’just getting around to asking you back to my place for a couple more drinks.” He offers his hand to you to help you stand, and your smile turns into a tiny smirk as you accept his hand.

“Good, was thinking I was gonna have to settle for the old guy with the beer gut playing pool.”

He just huffs out an amused laugh as he laces his fingers with yours, and replies with,

“M’glad my boyish charmed worked so well.”

You just throw your head back with a laugh and let him lead the way, filling the silence with idle conversations about the scorching weather and about the stars in the sky. When you reach the little path in the woods that leads to his little cabin, you can’t help but to tighten your hand in his and laugh softly.

“What’s so funny, sweetheart?” He asks with a tiny smile as if he already knows.

“Is this the part where you kill me in the woods?” You answer jokingly.

You don’t catch it, but Brax does feel a quick rush of nerve wash over him as you say that. He pauses for a second before he replies, just reminding himself that you don’t know his past: and you’re not his past, catching up with him.

“Nah,” He answers finally, the playful smile returning to his lips. “Figured I’d save that for later at my cabin.”

“Oh good, at least you can keep it classy.” You reply, as he just chuckles and swings his arm around your shoulder.

It’s not long before the path you take leads into a little clearing, where the dim lights from his front porch lights illuminate his little cabin. You give an impressive whistle as he opens the door for you, surveying your surroundings as he flicks on a few lights; illuminating his home.

“Cute place.” You say with awe, as he leads you to the kitchen. “Smells like fresh paint.”

“‘Cause it is,” Brax answers, pulling out a pair of wine glasses. “Just finished remodeling it last week.” You perch yourself on the couch and turn around to watch him pour the wine into the glasses.

“It’s really nice Brax, like, HomeGoods channel nice.” You giggle as he circles around to you, handing your glass to you with a smile.

“Is it safe to assume that my interior design skills are working just as well as my boyish charm?”

“I mean, you already got me home.” You laugh as he sits, an earnest chuckle passing his lips. “So yeah. I think it’s working pretty damn well.”

You knew from the second you saw Brax, that he could be _fun._ It’s been a good year since you’ve had a partner that was actually _good_ in bed, and he was a hiker that made a pit stop in Bald Head for a couple of days. So as you and Brax flirt relentlessly and drink together, you’ve both made it quite clear that there’s a mutual attraction. So, with the courage thrumming through your veins, you look up at him with as much faux-innocence as you can muster and rest your hand on his thigh. His lips crook into a smirk as he looks down at you, slowly drinking his wine as he shifts his body just a bit closer.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you bite back a smirk, your hand steadily rising up his thigh, just _searching_ for more of a reaction than what he’s giving to you. Brax remains almost _indifferent_ to it, save for the smirk playing on his lips.

“Come on,” you can’t remember the last time you put this much effort into sounding so _sultry._ “We both know what we want.” As you end your sentence, Brax inhales sharply as your hand finally rests over his bulge, rubbing ever so softly.

He hums in response to your words, and you can’t help the little giggle that escapes your lips as his hand overlaps yours over his bulge, encouraging you to rub him some more. He leans forward to put his glass on the coffee table, as you kiss the curve of his jaw; feeling him harden under your hand.

You don’t get much notice before he’s leaning over you, hand cupping your jaw with a roughness that matches the rest of him; lips crashing against yours. A sharp huff of air passes through you, and he chuckles as his hand on your jaw moves to your thigh, swiftly hiking it over his hip as he pushes you against the couch. Instinctively, your arms wind around his shoulders as he grunts in approval against your mouth, hips rolling into yours.

“Yeah, bet you fucking like that,” He grunts once he pulls away from you, his hand once more finding its home on your jaw as he tilts it up, lips brushing against your pulse. “You liked teasing me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” you answer immediately, body growing hot at his words. “I did Brax, I did.”

You don’t anticipate the way his hand suddenly moves to rest over your throat, and you _certainly_ don’t anticipate how much you realize you like the feeling. Brax comes back up to sink his teeth into your lower lip, and you moan needily for him.

“M’gonna fuck you good, sweet girl,” he all but growls, his hand putting pressure on your throat. “You want that? You want me?”

“ _Yes!”_ Your voice almost comes out a squeak, the evidence of you being turned on becoming known. All it does is fuel the fire for him.

It’s almost a fucking blur as he picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, lips attacking yours as you whimper against his mouth. Brax all but stumbles through the hallway, stopping as you sink your teeth into his neck in a way that would be painful if he wasn’t so worked up. Your back collides with the wall almost instantly as you tug your teeth away, the picture frames on the wall shaking from the force. He pulls your hips down onto his bulge as he drags his teeth across your neck just like you had, your fingers curling in his hair with a satisfied gasp as you feel him mark up the skin there. He’s unbelievably hard against you and you’re pretty sure you’d get off just like this if he asked you too.

You give his hair a particularly hard tug to get his face away from your neck, and when those dark brown eyes meet yours you can’t help but to smirk and kiss him hard once more, pulling away only briefly to murmur _bedroom._

When he kicks the door open to his bedroom, the damn wind is nearly knocked out of you as he tosses you on the mattress. You barely can say a word before his hands are on your thighs, tugging you close to the edge of the bed. He licks his lips as he deftly unbuttons your jeans, pulling them off your legs as if they were greased. Your hands find themselves gripping the lapels of his flannel, anchoring yourself to him as he runs those calloused fingers over the thin material of your panties, your back arching, and hips bucking to get _some_ type of friction. Brax’s lips curl into a small smirk as those eyes burn into yours, his fingers rubbing your panties at your clit. You could probably cum from that alone if he kept that up, but you have a different idea in mind.

It takes a better part of your willpower to pry his hand away from your sex, bringing his hand down and under your shirt to grasp at your chest as you work on undoing his belt. His lips are insistent on yours as you toss his belt aside, hiking your legs over his hips as you tug his jeans down as much as you can before he concedes and pulls away from you to rid them himself. You take the brief window of time to toss your shirt and bra aside. Afterall, he looks like the type to get impatient, and you’d rather save a trip to the mall for another time.

He’s lurching back down to kiss you quickly before you can think too hard about the price of a new bra, and his hand is pressing your knee up as he starts to litter messy, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and collarbones. Your hand grips his hair as your jaw goes slack, all but mewling for him as the scratch of his beard leaves a faint trail of red in its wake. Those big hands of his push your knees high until they’re up and over his shoulders, and he barely gives you time to process what he’s doing before he’s licking a thick stripe over your cunt.

It’s natural, fucking _raw_ instinct at this as your body reacts to his hot mouth on your sex, licking and sucking like it’s the last thing he’ll ever get to do on this goddamn Earth. You nearly tear his hair out when he presses his fingers inside of you, lips wrapping around your sensitive clit.

“ _Oh my god,”_ You gasp sharply, knuckles practically turning white as you grip his hair. “Fuck- Fuck Brax!”

He hums against your cunt in response, and when you finally manage to pry your eyes open to look at him between your legs; he’s looking right back up at you, and that’s what does you in. Your muscles tense and your heart races and it feels like the fucking _world_ stops, all while Brax’s mouth eases you through your climax.

It feels like it’s fucking _ages_ until he kisses up your stomach hurriedly, and you’re practically crushing his lips against yours. It’s open-mouthed and filthy and it’s _unbelievably_ hot, and you find the taste of yourself way more attractive than you probably should. The next few moments are blurred as you try and pry his shirt off, conceding to letting him undress as you get what little clothing you have left on your body. It’s not long before his lips are back on yours and his hand is pressing your knee up, giving you the hint to prop it up on his shoulder as he leans back to grip his length in his hand, stroking himself to the sight of you all spread out like this underneath him.

When he presses inside of you, you really can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes your lips. The angle alone makes him feel bigger than he already is and he sure as hell isn’t giving you time to adjust. He knows you can take it.

He doesn’t even take a second to think as his forehead falls against yours and his hips begin to move, and you’re damn sure the mere sound of his hips slapping against yours is enough to get you off again. Brax is hitting deep inside of you, those deep brown eyes dilated as he stares down at you with an intensity that matches the rest of him. His hand under your knee tightens as he presses it back further, causing you to hiss through your teeth as he practically folds you in half. The look in his eye is downright fucking animalistic, pupils blown wide enough to drown out the deep brown you could lose yourself in.

Brax isn’t a gentle type of guy. You could tell from the moment you saw him. Fuck, all the guy had to do was just walk in with bloodied knuckles and you were pretty much dropping your panties at the sight of him. And in your current predicament, you didn’t even have to convince Brax to indulge you in the roughness you like - it’s like he just knows. So that’s why when those heavy hands go to your hips and he pulls out suddenly, you know he’s not gonna give it to you soft. He all but manhandles you on to your stomach, and you follow so eagerly it should be embarrassing. But it really, _really_ fucking isn’t. He chuckles lowly to himself as you arch your ass up in the air, and one of his hands comes down to smack your ass, the slap of it ringing in your ears.

“Yeah,” he pants darkly, stroking his cock up against your folds. “Bet you fuckin’ like that, girl. C’mon, tell me what you want me to do baby girl.”

“ _Fuck me,”_  You beg, gripping his sheets as he runs his cock over your clit. “Fuckin’ just-I need your cock in me!”

The sting of the second slap is all but welcomed as you beg incoherently for him, and another and _another_ keep following as you run your mouth. He’s still pressing his cock against your folds, but _goddamn_ does he like the fucking sounds you make when he smacks your ass. Brax slides a hand into your hair after he’s marked your ass up, and he tugs you up to your hands. Draping his chest over your back, you never thought 200 pounds of pure muscle could turn you on so much.

“Want you to fuckin’ tell me what you want, girl,” He growls, hand in your hair. “Tell me what you fuckin’ want.”

 _“You!”_ You all but sob out at this point, attempting to catch his lips with yours. You don’t give a shit if you sound like a pathetic pornstar, voice three octaves higher. You want him. “I need you to make me cum, Brax!”

When he _finally_ kisses your lips, you kiss him hard for as long as you can before the hand in your hair grips the back of your neck and presses your face against the pillow. His calloused hands grip your hips as he slides in again easily, thanks to how wet you became from his hands slapping your ass.

His sheer strength is shown as he uses your hips to thrust into you, bringing your hips back against his cock fast and hard to give you what you want. Your helpless little whimpers are muffled by his sheets and everything around you feels white-hot, like nothing else fucking matters in the world besides _him_ and the way he’s growling all the things that will get you off for nights to come.

Brax grunts something incoherent before he’s wrapping one of those strong arms around your waist, fingers rolling your clit hard between his fingers. He’s murmuring _cum cum cum_ over and over again against your ear, and the white-hot sensation you’d been feeling since you started fucking Brax only intensified.

As your body clenches and tightens around Brax, the profanities that spill out your mouth come out as cries and sobs as he continues to roll your clit between his fingers, making the aftershocks of your climax intensified. With all the strength that you can muster, you move your hand to grip his wrist and bring it up to your mouth, sucking desperately at his fingers.

“ _Fuck,”_ He growls, pressing his fingers against your tongue. “Such a nasty fuckin’ thing for me.” He lets out a brief chuckle as you skim your teeth across his knuckles, before his hips start picking up speed again.

You can’t really resist it as you bite down a little harder on his fingers, because hey, he’s no stranger to pain. He hisses slightly through his mouth as his hips almost falter, and he slides his fingers out of your mouth to hold your throat lightly. Your smirk turns into another moan at what he has to say to you.

“M’gonna cum, where do you want it?”

“ _Mouth,_ my mouth. Please.”

Quicker than you can even process, Brax is flipping you onto your back like you’re a fucking ragdoll and he’s straddling your chest, your hands gripping the sides of his ass as he slides himself into your mouth with ease, hissing through his teeth as you swallow and suck at his cock, wanting to get the taste of his cum on your tongue.

When you gag and swallow around his length, he grits his jaw and he lets out a breath of air he was holding in as he cums in your mouth. He pulls out after a second, watching how you almost bat your eyelashes at him as a string of spit and cum connects your mouth. Panting as he comes down from his orgasm, he nearly gets hard again watching you smile innocently and lick your lips like you hadn’t just deepthroated him. Cupping your jaw as he looks down at you, he pushes some of the cum and spit on your chin past your lips with his thumb, and smirks hazily as you suck on it obediently.

“Goddamn girl, you really are fuckin’ somethin’, aren’t you,” He groans tiredly, popping his thumb from your mouth. All you do is laugh as you rub your hands on his hips softly as you retort,

“You fuckin’ like it. Don’t lie.”

He just slides his hand down to your throat and he squeezes gently with a grin before he finally rolls off of you, lying on his back as the two of you finally get a chance to get some air without the other being flush against each other.

It’s a sharp contrast to moments earlier, you think to yourself. Only ten minutes ago you were practically sobbing against the sheets, bodies covered in a thin layer of sweat as he pounded into you, the only sound being your curses and hips hitting one another. Now, it’s quiet, the only sound being the crickets outside, and the thrumming of your pulse in your ears.

The ache between your legs is a signal to get up and pee, but you’re almost too timid to break the silence that’s between the two of you, waiting for the other to say something. You haven’t gotten laid in a long time, let alone in a way like _that_ which literally makes you question your ability to even look him in the goddamn eye.

When you finally pep talk yourself into sneaking a peek at Brax, you feel almost as breathless as you were when he was balls deep in you. The room is only lit by the moonlight streaming through the window, and the silhouette of him next to you is a fucking _sight._ With the outline of his beard and chest rising and falling slowly, he tilts his head to look back at you, making you look away: suddenly feeling shy, which is fucking stupid considering the circumstances.

“You need somethin’ sweetheart?” Goddamn. His voice is basically an octave lower than it was at the bar, which is stupidly attractive.

“Yeah-yeah. Where’s your bathroom? Probably should pee.” You finally manage to say with a breathless laugh. He just chuckles quietly and points you in the right direction, sending you on your way.

Splashing some cold water on your face, you sigh sleepily as you lean against the sink to figure out your next move. Do you awkwardly leave? Do you make conversation? Do you fall asleep in his bed? Fuck knows what’s gonna happen next, so you just flip off the water and tug on your shirt and panties, and smooth out your hair before you quietly pad back into his room, only to find it empty. With a momentary frown, you’re about to just start getting undressed before you freeze when you hear quiet music playing from the living room. Smiling a little to yourself, you toss your jeans on to his bed before you go to the source of the music, only to find Brax in his briefs, putting his old Zepplin record sleeve back into the shelf it was in.

“I like this song, but I’m more of a Pink Floyd girl myself.” You say with a little smirk as you lean against the wall. He turns his head to look back at you with a grin and he says,

“You hungry or somethin’? I got more food. And wine.”

Walking towards him with that faux-innocence he likes a little _too_ much, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and you brush your lips against his and say,

“I’d like that.”

Needless to say, it only takes another glass of wine (or two) before you find yourself tangled up in his sheets once more, being fucked senseless, without caring about what the consequences could be for the following morning.


End file.
